


Common Boy

by SluttyMcDougal



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Canon Era, M/M, Magic Revealed, Prostitution, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SluttyMcDougal/pseuds/SluttyMcDougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But hope had been given, and hope had blossomed into an explosive thing neither of them could ignore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Common Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sapphirescribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirescribe/gifts), [venis_envy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venis_envy/gifts).



> This is for my Prostitution/Sex Work square for Kink Bingo. Thanks to [sapphirescribe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirescribe) and [venis_envy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/venis_envy) for ~~enabling~~ pre-reading!

Arthur pushed back on Merlin's chin, tilting his head and elongating his neck and he watched the boy's Adam's apple twitch as he dragged in gasping breaths. A vibrating rumble met Arthur's lips when he sealed his mouth around that lump beneath his flesh, sucking as he pushed a thumb just inside Merlin's mouth. Instead of drawing his thumb in, little kitten licks teased the pad while the boy squirmed beneath his king.

During their frantic love-making, Arthur recalled how innocent the boy had looked when Sir Gwaine had pushed him into Arthur's lap at the tavern many months prior. Exhausted from the hunt, and forgetting neither he nor his knights had worn any insignia nor other sign of the crown, Arthur had glared at the grinning, pink-faced chap when he'd looped his arms around Arthur's neck to steady himself.

"What is _this?_ " Arthur had asked, perturbed at how the blue-eyed boy had shown no shame at straddling a king's lap, wriggling like a pup.

"This is Merlin," Sir Gwaine had replied, matter-of-factly. "He's your present… Artie."

Arthur had fumed at the nickname, but then went weak in the knees when the boy in his lap had whispered directly in his ear. "I hear it's your birthday… Artie."

Hissing through gritted teeth when Merlin had begun nosing at his jaw, Arthur had sense to at least partially correct him. "'Art' would be more than sufficient…"

What was meant to be a one-time occurrence had turned into dozens—Arthur stealing outside of Camelot, renting a room at a seedy inn, seeking Merlin out and drowning himself in the smell of the boy's skin, the feel of his slim body beneath Arthur's hands, lips, and teeth. At first, Arthur had dismissed Merlin's enthusiasm in bed, his filthy vocalizations and encouragements as mere tools of his profession. He'd noticed more and more, though, how Merlin's eyes had often lost focus, how his skin had prickled with gooseflesh under a gentle caress, how his prick had maintained its blood-filled pulse topped off with an always-slick, reddened crown, and how he'd made an absolute soaking _mess_ each time Arthur brought him to climax.

His reactions had been genuine.

As genuine as the longing in his eyes every time Arthur had forced Merlin to accept the gold coins in return, an amount infinitely more than the boy had ever thought to charge.

Their last time at the inn, Merlin had thrown down Arthur's money in disgust, tears streaming down his face.

"I don't _want_ your money!" he'd sobbed. "I only want you! Can't you see that?"

Arthur had opened his mouth to say something just as Merlin's eyes flashed gold and he held out his hand, a swirl of light coiling betwixt his long fingers.

"Look at what we could have, Art," Merlin had rasped.

Arthur had been lost in the resulting vision, one where he rolled playfully in a humble, straw-stuffed bed with Merlin, laughing as the boy drew colorful designs in phantom smoke with his enchanting fingers in the air above their heads—a horse, a dragon, the sun, a heart—his eyes as gold as the coins Arthur had once paid him.

Where Arthur should have been angry or frightened, directly confronted with what his father had so hated, he'd been in awe. Proud. So _full_ of pride in this unassuming boy whom he'd grown to love so much.

"I want that," Arthur whispered, his face wet with emotion.

"Then why can't we have it? Is it because of what I am? What you believe is a lie. You are the last one I sold myself to. I'd only done it in the first place to pay for my mum's medicine. I could no longer heal her with magic and had been turned down for work right and left until I saw no other choice than to warm beds for money. The night of your birthday, you paid me enough to where I no longer had to do it. There was more than enough to pay the physician, and my mother is now well again! I only came to you every time since because I _had_ to see you. I'm no longer a common boy. My body and my heart belong to only you, Art. Just you." The way Merlin's voice had cracked on the word "heart" broke Arthur's, and he had struggled not to sob.

"I just can't. I wish I could explain…"

Merlin's eyes had shone gold again as he touched Arthur's face.

"But you can…"

Arthur had watched a vision of himself on the throne, the delicate crown heavy on his head despite its diminutive size. His armor, the chain mail, the royal crest, the palace… Every bit of it had been reflected in the abject horror of Merlin's naturally blue eyes.

"Art… _Arthur?_ Sire!" the boy had dropped to his knees, head bowed. "I pray it be in your will to spare my mother. She doesn't have magic, she has a farm. I'm an anomaly… it's not her fault—"

"There will be no talk of sparing _any_ one. There's no need for that, Merlin. I mean you no harm. I care for you."

The boy had looked up at Arthur, wet blue eyes blinking at his words.

Arthur's words had been automatic, surprising to his own ears. "Come with me, Merlin. To Camelot. Our court physician needs an assistant. You can train as his apprentice, learn the art of healing—"

"But, I have magic, Sire."

"Not an issue." Arthur had decided, firm. "Not now, not ever again. Your gift will be nurtured, you'll be able to help others, and you and I…" Arthur had swallowed his words, not sure if it would have been prudent to give hope to the boy of what might not even come to pass.

But hope had been given, and hope had blossomed into an explosive thing neither of them could ignore.

In the voluminous bed in Arthur's royal chambers, Merlin gave and Arthur gave in equal amounts, worrying not that nearby guests would hear or that the bed would break—that was an incident Arthur wished he could have forgotten—or that the sun would come and send Arthur away. With every press of fingers, every bite of teeth, Arthur made promises. Promises to his heart, promises to Merlin's.

And later, with the boy happy, sated, and sleep soft in his bed, Arthur made promises to the crown. Camelot would know magic in love, and love in magic.

While gazing at the enchanting creature under his crimson linens, Arthur promised Camelot would also know greatness in a common boy.


End file.
